The following is transcribed directly from a tape I made in 1992 while driving my Model 'A' Ford from Hardwick, Mass. to Galax, Va.
I cry with my hands clapped over my head, tears of joy, and with Mia Angelo, I proclaim, "Good morning."
I'm south of Hartford, driving a 1928 Model 'A' Ford Tudor sedan (my automobile) south of Hartford at about 50 MPH I hope (speedometer's broken) on my way to Galax Virginia about 100 miles west of Roanoke. I have owned the car for 33 years. I'm 50 years old. I've been pretty lucky all my life. I turned 21 in Columbia, South America. I got my eyes opened. I have conducted myself as an adult since.
The car is covered with dust and bat shit and you can hear what it sounds like. After 33 years, we are in tune.
I knew at 18 when I bought this car that I could keep it running and that it would be the boat in which I could carry out my Huck Finn adventure.
My brother Pete calls this car the fishbowl. It most certainly is. Every single person who drives by stares at it. It could be because of the wagon wheel I have tied on the side, or the bat shit, or the dust, or the combination thereof. I smile at them all. Most of them smile back…………. The cop that just pulled me over ain't smiling. He was pointing his finger and hollering at me. I guess that's 'cause he could see that I was picking my mandolin and driving on the turnpike at the same time. There's probably not a law against that but I think he'd figured out something. He was a little bit angry with me, probably because I had my earphones on, but after thoroughly investigating my license and everything, he let me go and made me take the earphones off. I assume that meant I was supposed to stop playing the mandolin also